Page 38 of His Wild Duchess
“I do not take that as a bad thing, Mr. Moderno.”
“You might not,” he said, extending an arm towards the door. “But the rest of London does.”
George stared at the butler, trying to come up with something else to say, but drawing a blank. With an annoyed huff, he stormed past him, leaving the study and approaching the dining room. After hearing all that, he would now be forced to spend time alone with Penelope. He racked his brain, searching for the possible civil things he could mention before he grew irritated and managed to bring up the horseback situation again.
Outside the dining room, Butternut sat at a small endtable. Her coat looked fresh and clean, fluffed up to perfection. As he drewcloser, Butternut slowly blinked her sharp green eyes at him, tail slightly swaying at the very end.
George paused at the door, hesitating as the cat watched him expectantly. He glanced behind his shoulder. “H-How do you do?” he asked, keeping his voice low.
Butternut blinked again, straightening up to lean her head towards him.
With a hesitant hand, George reached, petting the top of her head, between the ears. A loud vibrating sound came from the cat’s throat as her eyes closed, a pleased look on her face. George grinned, giving her a few pats down the back before turning his attention back to the dining room.
Inside, Penelope sat at a chair beside a window, gazing out at the sunset. The mastiff, Antony, sat loyally beside her.
“Good evening,” he said within the relaxed quiet.
Penelope turned, quickly rising to her feet. “Hello,” she said, her voice small. “Are you well?”
“I am,” he stiffly replied. “And you?”
She pressed her lips together, nodding awkwardly while turning away. “Yes, I am well.”
Antony’s large head glanced between them.
“Please,” George said, motioning to the table. “Have a seat, my apologies for keeping you waiting.”
“It’s alright,” she replied while sitting. “The sunset was pleasant to watch.”
George nodded as he took his own seat at the table, quiet as the servants came to serve the food and pour the wine. Penelope kept her head down as they scuffled around, her hands held in her lap. He could stop himself from watching her, his hand resting on his chin. Every time he looked at her, all he could think about was Vaun, and seeing her come trotting up to the stable on top of him.
Once the servants moved away from the table and out the room, Antony clobbered up to them, laying underneath the table, his snores filling the room like background music. Slowly, Penelope ate, her eyes never leaving the plate.
“You have experience with taming horses, don’t you?” George suddenly blurted, unable to hold himself back.
Penelope’s head shot up, obviously as surprised as he was. “I’m sorry?”
“Taming horses,” he repeated. “How many times have you done it before?”
“I can’t recall ever doing such a thing.”
“That’s impossible.”
She raised a brow. “Are you trying to call me a liar?” With a small laugh, Penelope shook her head. “I haven’t tamed any horses, George. I don’t think I’ve even come across a wild horse.”
“But you have,” he said. “Vaun.”
“It’s not like you had a sign on the door calling him a halfway-tamed stallion,” Penelope snapped irritably. “I do not wish to argue this entire evening and try to convince you that I have never, in fact, tamed a horse.”
George frowned. “Neither do I.”
“Then why bring it up again?”
He hesitated, swallowing down a gulp of food before setting his utensil down. “Penelope,” he began, enjoying the way her name felt on his lips, “While most of the things I experienced at that moment came from the utter shock of seeing a young, well-bred woman of London society riding a wild stallion, I was also…quite impressed.”
Penelope froze from across the table. “Don’t tease me.”
“I’m not!”
